There's a land we knew in the days gone by,And builded our castles there.There are trails we trod in the dawning light,With never a thought of care.There were dreams we dreamed, there were plans we planned.But lingered upon our way.As we trod midst a halo of gloryThe morning of yesterday.
For our hearts were light, and the way was bright,What matter the day was long.Cloudless years were ours, and the shady bowersRe-echoed our blithesome song.At the warning cry, as they passed us by,We mocked, for our hearts were gay—Solemn plodders who passed us at noontide,The noontide of yesterday.
Did we linger long, ah, 'twas sweet to doTo-morrow, we said with pride.For the way was steep, and we laid to sleepAnd dream where the trails divide.But the sun was low, as we rose to go,And ah, it was cold and grey,While the shadows of even were falling—The evening of yesterday.
For the land of dreams is the long ago,Where shadowy phantoms treadOf a task undone and a prize unwon,The gift that at noonday fled.Though we turn again to its sunlit plain,The glories are dimmed for aye,And our castles are mingled with ashes.The ashes of yesterday.
(A Song of the Brand)
They who bear the brand of the lonely landMust follow its lonely wayThrough the long, long night, till the dawning lightShall herald the break of day.Cross the Arctic snows, where the north wind blows,Or parched 'neath a burning sky,To a call that was theirs since creationThey answer and know not why.
I chain with the fetters that bind the soul,I link with the links of timeAnd speak ere the cradle shall yield its child;I claim thee and thou art mine.From palatial pomp to the reeking slum,Midst classes and kinds I roam.And I trust to their keeping mine honour,Midst trails of the great alone.
How they smile with joy o'er the baby boy,And plan him a future grand.But I watch unseen, as I stand between,To letter him with the brand.Then I creep away to await the dayWhen idols and hopes shall fall,And a wanderer turns to the desert,Obeying my deathless call.
There are those who try to my power deny,Defying my ancient law.Who would e'en be free, as they turn to fleeAgain to the paths of yore.As I watch them go, in my heart I know'Tis but to return again.For the things that are, and the things that wereTo them are no more the same.
They are mine for aye till their bones decay,And others shall fill their trail.They are mine to seek by the gorge and creek,The South, or the Northland's veil.They are mine to live, they are mine to die,Predestined by fate's decreeTo a choice that is not of their choosing,Yet willing my sons to be.
For the seed is sown and they e'en must roamMy boundaries wild and wideTill I bid them rest from an endless quest,And sleep where the trails divide.In the nameless graves where the big grass wavesAnd shadows of empire fallThey are sleeping the sleep of the ages,Awaiting the last great call.
'Twas so at the first, 'twill be to the last,The wanderer still must roam.For the fates decreed that the gypsy breedForever must trail alone.In the silent land by the lonely fire,Midst wilderness old and grey,They are blending with dreams of to-morrow"What might have been" yesterday.
Do I dream, dear love, of the years that liveIn memory's sacred bower?Do I vision again in the twilight,Midst quiet of the evening hour,That I hold you close as in days that fled,And whisper "Dear love, dear love,"While I fancy you murmur "Forever,"My girl, from your home above?
Do I speak to you vainly, my darling,And fancy I see you yet?Do I dream, as the shadows are falling.Of words I can ne'er forget?Do I cling to a hope that was broken,The wreck of what might have been:Then, my darling, may God in His mercyForever just let me dream.
And now to you whose story I have vainly tried to tell,With lisping tongue and faltering pen, wherever you may dwell,O'ershadowed by the Southern Cross, or camping in the wild,The fellows who the city's rush and cares have ne'er defiled.
In weary lands I've seemed to roam again as yesterday,And pierced the shadowed silence of the fallen in the fray.O'er coulee, camp and mountain trail, I've dreamedwith strange delightAnd known again the wilderness, the hunger and the night.
You've known the luring of the East, the Himalayan Heights,You've known the fevered Gold Coast, or the mysticNorthern Lights.You've played the game without the gain, but love thetie that binds,The God above, the loneliness, ye makers of the lines.
I've spoken of the ones who pay, a grave out in the plain;You tread the path they all have trod, and follow in their train;From Egypt and the Upper Nile, to where the Rockies stand,You've seen it all, you've heard the call, to civilize the land.
I bid farewell, for I have known, or seemed to for a spell,Your faces in the wilderness, I seem to know you well;I stretch again an eager hand to you, both far and near,And thank you with a nation's thanks—the Civil Engineer.